


A Razor's Edge

by ohnoooooo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Characters Making Bad Choices, Eventual Happy Ending, Himbo Harry Potter, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash, Veela Draco Malfoy, fight me, no beta we die like men, yes i said himbo harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29163033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoooooo/pseuds/ohnoooooo
Summary: "It happened, of course, in the middle of his trial. Because why wouldn’t it? Because why would any single thing in Draco Malfoy’s life ever go smoothly?"Draco discovers he's a quarter Veela and has to reckon with what that brings, as well as with his own personal prejudices. Meanwhile, Harry Potter is living with his Godfather at Grimmauld Place and just can't seem to get his life together.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	A Razor's Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GallifreyisBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/gifts).



> First chapter is entirely from Draco's POV. We'll hear from Harry next chapter. Sirius and Remus are alive and Wolfstar is going to be heavily featured in the background of this fic. This is literally my first Harry Potter fic since I was a teenager and I blame 2020 and my slow descent into madness, as well as GallifreyisBurning. Reviews are love! Kudos are appreciated. If you don't like it please don't tell me I'm delicate and smol.

It happened, of course, in the middle of his trial. Because why wouldn’t it? Because why would any single thing in Draco Malfoy’s life ever go smoothly - including the trial to determine whether or not he deserved to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

Potter spoke for him. Which is another unexpected thing in and of itself, although not, it would turn out, the most unexpected thing that would happen to Draco that day.

Potter had just sat down (he was wearing a lovely blue jacket - Draco had never seen one like it before, but it was made from a sort of rough material which he’d seen used to make muggle trousers) when Draco moaned. His back  _ hurt _ . Hurt like someone had run two knives down his skin. 

“The accused will be quiet in the court,” a stern-faced warlock on his right said, and Draco nodded, sweating, but he could feel his heart racing and sweat start to pool at his temples. “Please,” he murmured, “please, I don’t feel -” A scream ripped through his body and he gasped, lunging forward.

The chains on the accusation chair sprang apart as he fell and shouts rose in the courtroom as he wailed, reaching around desperately to tear at his shoulders, skin burning, head pounding and filled with one, repeated thought -  _ make it stop.  _

A guard had tried to tackle him when it happened. The skin on his back ripped open and two huge, feathered wings burst forth and lashed out at the warlock trying to grab him, slicing through some skin on the other man’s arm. 

Screams filled the air and Kingsley Shacklebolt - who as well as being the acting prime minister was also the acting Chief Warlock until a new Wizengamot could be installed - raised his wand and flicked it towards Draco, immobilizing him. His wings (Merlin his  _ wings) _ somehow seemed to strain against the spell, even though Draco couldn’t move. 

“STOP!” Draco couldn’t look up because of the spell, but he’d recognize his father’s voice anywhere - they’d let his parents come to watch his trial. “STOP! It’s not his fault! He doesn’t mean it he…he…” His mother was screaming. “Stop it! HE’S A VEELA!” 

  
  
Immobilized or not, Draco fainted.    
  
***

When Draco’s eyes fluttered open, he found himself lying on a stone floor, gazing up at a domed ceiling. Not the courtroom. Somewhere else. His back, he realized, was flat against the floor, which meant that the wings had gone, somehow.    
  


The wings. 

“So Mister Malfoy,” Shacklebolt’s rich voice came from across the room and Draco froze, but didn’t move, “you have a Veela parent?” 

“Y-es,” Draco had never heard his father sound so nervous before, “my natural mother was a Veela. It’s not something we ever talked about, given that Malfoys are...considered pure.” Lucius swallowed. “But my father had an affair when he and my mother, my...adoptive mother, lived in France.”    
  


“With a full blooded Veela?” Draco could hear the shock in Shacklebolt’s voice. 

“Yes, Prime Minister,” his father said quietly, “but Veela...do not raise their male young. My natural mother abandoned me on my father’s doorstep after I was born.” Lucius sighed. “I looked human. They consulted an extremely trustworthy Healer at St. Mungo’s and paid her handsomely. She assured them that male Veela half breeds rarely display any characteristics of their heritage. My mother had proven barren by that point in their marriage and then rest is…” 

“But your son is only a quarter,” Shackelbolt interjected, “and I’ve worked with another quarter Veela, and she never -” 

“It’s rare,” Lucius murmured, “that’s what my childhood healer told me. Most Veela hybrids simply inherit coloring, charisma...and a natural aptitude for magic, as magical,” Draco heard him pause, “as magical creatures.” 

_ Creatures _ , a voice in Draco’s mind whispered,  _ you’re a magical creature.  _

“Rare but not unheard of?” Shackelbolt’s voice was surprisingly gentle, and Draco found himself wondering what sort of man he was if you weren’t standing on trial in front of him. Maybe a kind one. 

“Yes,” again Lucius’ voice sounded small, “not unheard of. Veela wings...they’re a defense mechanism. They can appear in times of great stress...they’re sharp; the feathers are razored. A natural weapon against predators -” 

“ _ You’re the predator.” _

Draco’s stomach jolted when he heard his mother’s voice. She’d been quiet the rest of the time but now the venom in her voice filled him with dread. He’d never heard her speak to his father like that. 

“Narcissa -”

“Mrs. Malfoy, please -”

“And a liar!” She almost sounded as though she was choking on the words. “Falsifying your blood status - dragging me and my son into a war about  _ blood purity  _ when you’re nothing but a filthy half breed yourself -”

“And what does that make me, Mother?” Draco spoke from where he was lying on the floor. 

All three of them - the Prime minister included - jumped to their feet and rushed over to him. 

“Draco  _ darling _ ,” his mother’s cool hands ghosted over his face and Draco felt a moment of relief. She didn’t hate him. “I didn’t mean it love, I’m just shocked. That’s all. And worried. How’s your poor back?” 

Draco sat up slowly, stretching his aching back muscles. “Not...not too bad. Sore. But like I’ve been exercising.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at his father. 

Shacklebolt helped him to his feet. “Your trial has been postponed until tomorrow, Mr. Malfoy. You and your parents are free to return to your home for the evening. You’ll return tomorrow for your verdict.” He looked at them. “You will also be hearing shortly from a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - you’ll both need a caseworker.” 

“A caseworker?” His mother looked bewildered. “Lucius doesn’t even have -”   
  
“I’m sure your caseworker will explain everything to you, of course,” Shacklebolt said gently as he led them out of the room, and Draco swallowed. Perhaps Shacklebolt wasn’t so kind after all. 

  
  
Or perhaps he was. But just not to creatures. 

***

They found Draco innocent, but it was one of the last good things to happen to him for a while. Lucius, whose trial was a week after Draco’s, was found guilty of his crimes. His memories showed that his wand was taken and his home used against his will, and so he was given only ten years, as opposed to life. Draco knew that it might happen, but he still couldn’t fathom that it really was happening until he and his mother were saying goodbye to his father when the Aurors came to collect him.    
  
Draco cried so hard that this wings flew out and cut his mother, and he’d spent the next few hours hiding in his room until they’d finally shrunken back into his skin, furious at himself for hurting his mother, furious at his father for not telling him, and furious at his father for going to prison. 

When he came downstairs he saw his mother rubbing dittany into her arms and felt another stab of guilt - and disturbingly, something akin to a  _ rustle _ under the skin of his back.    


  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Not your fault,” his mother answered tightly, but she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I heard from the ministry,” he murmured, “I’m supposed to meet with my caseworker tomorrow. Maybe they’ll be able to help. Teach me how to control them.”

His mother made a noise. “Yes. The ministry has been  _ so _ helpful thus far.”

“Well what do you want me to do?” Draco snapped. “I can’t change it, Mother. Don’t you think I would if I could?” 

She didn’t answer him, but instead just corked the bottle of dittany and headed upstairs without another word. 

***

“Ah hello! Draco isn’t it? Come in, come in. I’m Sam - Sam Rookford.” 

  
  
The office was absolute chaos, bits of parchment strewn everywhere amongst stacks of books, and Sam Rookford sat behind a desk, his shiny bald head nearly concealed by an iron cage of pixies.    


  
Draco took a seat across from him gingerly. 

  
  
“Don’t mind them,” Rookford had a pleasant voice, jovial and thick with a Liverpuddlian accent, “they’re only a temporary fixture here - though of course that don’t mean much here, I get new creatures in this office every week.” He let out a grunt as he shifted the cage of pixies to the floor and turned to Draco with a bright grin. “Speakin’ of lad, welcome! You’re my first Veela you know. Should we start?” He spoke so fast that Draco couldn't even answer him before the man leant over and tapped a kettle with his wand. “Shall I make us a nice brew, then?” He blinked and frowned, looking over at Draco. “Do Veelas drink tea, mind?” 

Draco cleared his throat. “I’m only a quarter Veela,” he said with more confidence than he felt, “and tea would be lovely, please. Milk and two sugars if you don’t mind.” 

  
  
Rookford plopped two tea bags into two large mugs. “Oh yeah? It said in my files that Veelas have got a sweet tooth.” 

  
  
Rather than being sweet, Draco’s teeth were glued together in frustration, but he managed a tight smile when Rookford handed him his mug of tea. 

“So,” Rookford shifted a pile of papers, “says ‘er you grew wings - oh me - in your trial. And I take it they’re sharp? Like typical Veela wings?”

Draco’s back tensed as he felt the bloody things start to shift, but he nodded, taking deep breaths. “Yes,” he confirmed, “I was rather hoping you’d have resources to help me control them.”

“Yep, righto, here we are.” Rookwood handed him a pamphlet. A bloody  _ pamphlet _ . 

“‘Your Wings and You: Coming to Terms With Your Veela Heritage?’” Draco arched an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose…” 

“There are private coaches,” Rookford supplied, “but they’re a little pricey and unfortunately the ministry doesn’t -”

  
  
“Price isn’t an issue,” Draco interjected calmly. 

Rookford’s face brightened. “Oh! Have you already made arrangements, then?” 

Draco frowned. “Arrangements - I - look I’m sorry but do you know who I am?” Here grimaced as he said it but the bumbling buffoon seemed totally inept. “I’m  _ Draco Malfoy.  _ I’ve got plenty of money.” 

  
  
Rookford’s face drained of colour. “Oh. They were meant to tell you before you met with me...bloody hell.”

Now it was Draco’s face that grew pale. “Tell me what exactly?” 

Rookford paused, and then hastily scribbled a note and threw it into one of the many tubes on his desk. A few seconds later a letter came whizzing back, and he cleared his throat and handed it to Draco, his bald head now shining with a thin sheen of sweat. 

Draco took the letter and unfolded it with shaking hands. 

_ To the creature formerly known as Draco Malfoy -  _

“Formerly?!  _ Creature?! _ ”

Rookford threw his hands up. “Not the ministry’s doing, lad! Honest!” 

_ It has come to my attention that your father, who forward shall be called Lucius M., in addition to being born out of wedlock is in fact of Veela heritage. As written in the ancient magical inheritance laws of the Malfoy estate, no one of impure blood nor illegitimate birth status may legally inherit Malfoy Manor or any other Malfoy property, financial or otherwise. Henceforth, Lucius M. and any offspring of his line shall have no legal right to any Malfoy property, given that M and his offspring are not true Malfoys.  _

_ The family of Lucius M. shall have 30 days as of October 20th to vacate the premises and surrender any Gringotts keys.  _

_ Regards,  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Cyrus Arctus Phinneas Malfoy VI _

_ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper _

Draco’s throat felt dry. He picked up his now-tepid tea, but his hands were shaking so badly that it started to spill, so he put the mug down quickly. 

“There’s...Great Uncle Cyrus sent this himself? This was verified to be written in his hand?”

Rookford nodded glumly. “I’m afraid so…”

Great Uncle Cyrus lived in the family Chateau in France. Draco had been visiting him since he was a baby - he was Draco’s favourite family member because he always had sweets hidden in his pocket, and when Draco got older he let him have wine with dinner and stay up later than either of his parents thought appropriate. And now.  _ Now… _

“Well,” Rookford interrupted Draco’s train of thought, “I’m here t’support you now, lad. You’ll be meetin’ with me every month now for a check in, so let me give you some more pamphlets about housing…” 

Fucking  _ pamphlets. _

“You should know that as a magical Creature you’ll be required to register any future residences with me, as well as jobs, children, and so on. And if you have any trouble we’ll come up with a plan - there are some lovely Veela habitats in the Lake District that we could -”

  
  
“I am a  _ wizard _ ,” Draco barked tensely, “I’m not going to live in a  _ fucking _ habitat.” 

Rookford nodded. “Of course of course - everything will be fine and dandy once we get your little wing problem under control, hmm?” He took a piece of parchment out of one of the endless piles and pushed it across the desk to Draco. “Just sign here, there’s a good lad. You’ll need to sign every time I see you so the Ministry knows you’re keeping your appointments.” 

Draco numbly picked up a quill and began to write, and his first name flowed from the quill in his usual, looping script. However, when he got to the M he found himself unable to write anymore. Anything after the M and his hand froze. 

Rookford smiled nervously. “Oh er...that’s the funny thing about ancestral magic. Tends to set in rather quick, don’t it? You know I had a client who -” 

Without warning Draco’s wings burst painfully forth from his back, shredding his shirt and sending several stacks of parchment flying in the process. 

  
  
He had lost his name. 

***

When he returned home he found his mother in the drawing room, but to his surprise she was sitting with an open decanter of his father’s favourite brandy. 

“I received a letter from your Uncle Cyrus,” Narcissa said, simply. 

Draco closed his eyes. “Yes, my caseworker at the ministry told me.” He swallowed. “Mum…”

  
  
“It’s not your fault,” she interrupted him, gently, “none of this is your fault, Draco.” She sighed and rubbed at her brow. “And of course the Black inheritance has gone to my cousin.” She didn’t need to specify which cousin she meant. For one thing, there was only one left alive, and for another everyone knew that Grimmauld Place was occupied by Siruis Black, his werewolf friend, and the Chosen One. 

“What about Aunt Andromeda?” he asked quietly. 

Narcissa frowned, and to Draco’s dismay he saw her eyes well up. “The war killed her daughter and her husband. The war I fought on the wrong side of -”

“Mother, you did not -”

  
  
“Yes, Draco!” She stood up, the tears finally spilling from her eyes, the brandy glass clutched hard in her pale hand. “Yes Draco, I did! I cannot put the blame on your father, no matter how much I might wish to. I have my own Dark Mark, and it was not forced upon me as yours was!” Her eyes glowed in the firelight and Draco desperately wanted to take the glass from her, or hold her, but she seemed too sharp and too fragile all at once. On the verge of breaking or being broken. “I am...I believe in blood purity. Even now, after all this. I - when I found out about Lucius, about what he was, and about what  _ you _ were…” She shook her head. “I was disgusted, Draco. With him. With  _ you. _ Whom I love more than anything in the world.” 

Draco had no words. He had guessed how his mother felt, but to hear it put so frankly felt like a punch to the stomach. “You were...shocked. It’s alright.” 

  
  
Narcissa let out a sob. “No, my son. It is not alright. I have some soul searching to do...I must learn to be different. I have to do... _ something _ .” 

She seemed softer now, and so Draco risked getting closer until he could draw her close into a hug. “I forgive you,” he murmured quietly, “and I have soul searching to do as well. You’re not alone in this, Mother.”    
  


She nodded and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “I am so proud of you, Draco.” 

  
  
Draco snorted. “I haven’t even done anything yet. I’m a disappointing son.” 

  
  
“Nonsense.” Narcissa pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Now...for our plans. I bought a chalet in France for your father in the early days, with my money. It is not Malfoy property, or Black property, it’s simply mine. Let’s go away for a year or so. Gather ourselves.” 

  
  
Draco’s heart quickened. “I...Mum. I’m not allowed. I’m on probation, and especially with the Veela status...I’m not allowed to leave the country for the next two years.”

  
  
Narcissa’s face fell and she brought her hands up to her face. “Your father and I have ruined your life.” 

  
  
Draco shook his head, even though sometimes (most of the time) he really did think his life was ruined. “Mum…” He took her hands. “Mum, I want you to go.” 

  
  
She shook her head. “No Draco, what about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco said with more confidence than he felt, “I’ll get a job, and get a room somewhere. And you’ll come and visit me when you can.” He forced a smile on his face. “Mum, I  _ want _ you to go to France. You deserve that. You deserve to heal.”    


  
Narcissa winced and stroked his face. “And what about what you deserve, Draco?” 

Draco smiled. “I’ll take care of myself. Don’t you worry.”    
  
***

The next month was an exercise in humility, and at times even humiliation. They rounded up everything Narcissa and Lucius had purchased in their marriage that they thought Uncle Cyrus wouldn’t miss, and flogged it in Knockturn Alley for whatever they could get. The Malfoy name, which neither Narcissa or Draco could even use anymore, didn’t command much respect these days, but it was the paper that really drove home the desperation. 

_ DEATH EATER TAKES FLIGHT - FORMER MALFOY HEIR REVEALED TO BE A VEELA HYBRID. _

Draco sneered when he caught sight of the prophet at the newsstand in Diagon Alley, his face colouring. “I didn’t even fucking fly.” 

  
  
“Don’t swear,” Narcissa chastised him gently, “I brought the rubies today. It doesn’t matter how we’ve fallen - no one can try to cheat us for those.” 

  
  
His mother was, of course, wrong. 

  
  
And thirty days after Draco’s first meeting with Rookford they were standing in the foyer of the manor - of Draco’s childhood home, with a few suitcases between them and his mother clutching a port-key to the south of France. Her face crumpled when she looked at him. 

  
  
“I only wish we could have found you lodgings before I left -” 

  
  
“We’ve saved money this way,” Draco said gently, “I’ll spend a couple nights in the Leaky Cauldron and floo you as soon as I’ve secured a place to stay.” 

His mother nodded and took his hand. “And a job. I can’t wait to see what you’ll accomplish, my sweet.” 

“As soon as any new developments happen, I will Floo you. I promise.” He let go of her hand. “Your portkey’s going to activate any minute, Mother.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you. Owl me when you’re settled in.” 

  
  
She smiled through shining eyes. “Yes, of course!” 

And then she was gone. To France. To comfort. Draco looked down at his bags and sighed. 

  
  
“This is it then,” he said quietly, “time to go.” 

  
  
“Master Draco?” 

Draco started and turned around. Standing at the foot of the stairs were the manor’s four remaining house elves. The oldest, Kipsy, smiled fondly. 

“We are going to be missing you, Master Draco.” 

Draco’s heart fluttered and he smiled. “Well...you’ll have someone new to take care of soon. You remember my Uncle Cyrus?”

A house elf with particularly bulbous eyes wrinkled his nose. “Kreaky is not liking Master Cyrus. Kreaky is liking Master Draco.” 

  
  
Draco laughed fondly. “I am going to miss all of you.” 

Kipsy spoke out. “Kipsy set fire to the curtains, Master Draco.” 

Draco spluttered. “I beg your pardon?” 

“The drawing room curtains. Kipsy lit them on fire.” 

“Kipsy why would you -”

“Kreaky broke Mistress’ favourite crystal vase, Master Draco.”

  
  
Draco blinked. 

“Drappy flooded the kitchens, Master Draco.”

“And Flopsy,” the youngest elf squeaked proudly, “blasted a hole in the roof!” 

Draco’s face drained. “Wh-which part of the roof?” Uncle Cyrus was going to kill them. Their behaviour was unacceptable. They - 

Draco paused, and then grinned. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “I have no choice but to give each and every one of you clothes.” 

The house elves cheered and Draco’s heart swelled. He opened one of his suitcases and flipped the lid back, grandly. To Kipsy he gave a silk shirt she had lovingly ironed for him only the night before, while he was packing. She put it on and smiled proudly, spinning on the spot for the other elves. Kreaky got a tie, and Drappy a pair of mittens that he put on and clapped with as soon as Draco gave them to him. Lastly, he looked at Flopsy, unsure of what to give her. 

“What would you like, Flopsy?” 

Flopsy paused shyly, and then pointed. 

Draco arched his eyebrow. “Only that?” 

The little elf nodded. “Like Dobby,” she squeaked quietly. 

Dobby. He had been Draco’s favourite elf. Everyone had heard how Harry Potter had freed him. No one could avoid it, the way Lucius had screamed when he’d gotten home. 

He smiled, and handed Flopsy the single black sock she’d pointed at. 

When he closed his case and stood up he smiled sadly at the elves. “I’d suggest Hogwarts, if you’re looking for employment. I can write to the Headmistress and make sure that she’s expecting you.”

Flopsy shook her head. “We are going with Master Malfoy. We are free elves now.” 

Draco smiled, and then he knelt down and shook each elf by the hand. “Thank you for everything you have done for me and for the manor. But I can’t afford to pay or maintain any of you. As soon as I’m able, I’ll send for you. But Hogwarts will be the best place for you in the meantime.” 

Draco didn’t expect the hugs. He was so shocked that he found himself at a loss for words. But all four of the little elves hugged him, before disappearing with a cracking sound. 

Draco took one last look around the manor and sighed, before throwing a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace. 

  
  
“The Leaky Cauldron.”

***


End file.
